


Sage and Yellow Stockings

by Toastybluetwo



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybluetwo/pseuds/Toastybluetwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders and Varric get drunk together and talk about sex. Sexual tension happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sage and Yellow Stockings

“Ever fucked a dwarf before?”

Anders and Varric barely sat at the rough table that stood in the center of Varric’s room at the Hanged Man. Varric could barely be seen behind a number of bottles of low grade wine and a few empty, greasy baskets that had once held fried fish.

Resting his head on the table, his eyes half-closed, Anders murmured, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”

“Warden?”

“Mm.” Anders closed his eyes. The room had begun to spin. “Legion of the Dead and a Warden, at that.”

“Impressive.” Varric leaned back in his chair, propping his boots up on the table. “Female?”

“Yes. Tattoos and all. We shagged a few times before she went off to the Deep Roads and I…ran away.” Anders made two of his fingers walk across the table, as if to illustrate the point.

“Any males?”

Even in the depths of his drunken haze, Anders began to wonder why Varric was suddenly curious about this. Then again, Varric had pretty soundly drunk him under the table, and even then, Varric had consumed enough wine to make even Isabella raise her eyebrows.

“Not that I can recall.” Anders let the words tumble out of his mouth as he flipped through his memories of so many lovers, some without faces and names. “Why?”

“Ever been curious?”

This made Anders raise his head and open his eyes. Even though the room tilted sharply every time he blinked, he could see Varric leaning back in his chair, the view of the dwarf distorted through the glass wall of wine bottles that stood between them. “What?”

“Have you ever been curious?” Varric snatched up two of the bottles, one in each hand, and set them on the floor. Then, with a clear view of Anders at last, he tilted his head, calmly regarding the human mage.

“About male dwarves? I don’t need to be curious, Varric.” A smirk rose to Anders’ mouth as a hiccup escaped his lips. “The, ah, endowments of male dwarves are legend.”

“You mean that we have big dicks?” Varric sighed dramatically through his nose and gave a toss of his head. “All true.”

Letting out a strange sort of whooping laugh, Anders tried to stand up, and after several attempts, made it to his feet, albeit a bit unsteadily. “Don’t think I’ll make it back to my clinic without getting robbed. Not that there’s much to rob.”

“Say no more, Blondie. You know the drill.” Rising to his own feet, Varric walked over to his bed, stooped over, and pulled out the low cot that stood beneath it. “If you’re going to rid yourself of all of that wine I bought you, kindly do it in the slop bucket. Last time, my room smelled like onions and eggs for weeks.”

“I’m not going to vomit.” Stumbling over to the cot, Anders collapsed on top of it with a groan.

“Void,” muttered Varric as he shook Anders’ shoulder. “No boots in bed. I told you this before. You’ll get shit from Darktown all over the blankets.”

Anders did not respond. His eyelids drooped, then at last covered his eyes as the mage relaxed.

With a heavy sigh, Varric began to unlace Anders’ boots one by one, yanking them off of his feet. Varric clicked his tongue at the sight of Anders’ stockings, each covered with a wide variety of holes, patches, and different thicknesses of yarn used to mend and stabilize all of the above.

“I’m going to buy you a set of stockings for your next name day, Blondie,” murmured Varric. “No, I take that back. Ten sets. One in each color. You look like a man that can pull off a set of bright yellow socks.”

As he set the boots down next to the cot, he found himself staring at Anders’ tunic. Earlier in the evening, Anders had removed his jacket and jerkin, and Varric found himself keenly aware as to why the mage usually wore both – to hide the horrid state of the tunic. It had once clearly been white but had gone grey, yellow, and brown from so many years of the tunic acting as part of Anders’ only suit of clothes.

The stains were part of the cloth; the tunic was otherwise clean. Varric wanted to confirm this, and reached out, tracing a rather large bloodstain with his fingertips. The edges ran over Anders’ right nipple, down his side, over countless ribs barely hidden by flesh and lean muscle, and ended at his navel.

Varric’s breathing hitched in his throat. The fabric was soft and smelled of sage and soap, not blood. A very masculine smell, one that mixed with the oily scent of the cooked fish and the consumed wine.

The room felt warmer.

Varric longed to trace the bloodstain again, and could not fathom the reason for this desire.

Perhaps it was the wine. Yes. It had to be.

Withdrawing his hand, Varric quickly took up the blanket at the foot of the cot, covering Anders from neck to toes, hiding his long, lean form and the bloodstain and masking away the scent of sage with that of cedar. Gritting his teeth, he sat on the edge of his own bed, undressing quickly, awaiting the moment that he could be safely in bed, safely in the dark, safely asleep without thoughts that he could not trace or entirely understand.

He only knew that this, whatever it was, was new, and he thought that he knew himself before it.


End file.
